Pilot
by canibeyourotp
Summary: Spencer moves into the mansion. He's obviously very suspicious when Weird Stuff starts to happen to him... Oneshot.


**A oneshot. The archive looked lonely.**

* * *

When Spencer's family first moved in to their mansion, laden down with boxes and furniture, creepy stuff began to happen. Maybe it was his mind screwing around with him, or maybe it was because he wasn't used to all of the bumps and thumps in the night that the house had to offer, but something didn't feel right. Little shivers insisted on running down Spencer's spine every time he sat in a specific chair, for example, or when he examined the really weird collection of wax figurines in the basement. But those were just the little instances. They were soon followed by much more noticeable occurrences.

First of all, it did _not_ take that short a time to unpack. He'd never seen anything so messy in his life. The entire house looked as though boxes had been thrown around the rooms, spilling their contents like brimming glassware. His mum said that they were 'just working out where everything went'. Spencer wasn't so sure.

Then, Spencer's stuff started going missing, which he was definitely Not Happy about. Comfortable sweaters that went walkabout were a disappointment; the loss of soft pillows and cosy blankets wasn't convenient in the slightest. "MUM! WHERE ARE MY SHOES?"

"Have you checked by the door?"

"YES, I'VE CHECKED BY THE DOOR."

"Come downstairs instead of yelling at me, honey."

"I'm going out to film!" he whined, pulling on socks as he hopped down the stairs. "This is really annoying, I can't find _anything_ in this stupid house-"

A pair of trainers hit him on the head, apparently having been flung over the banister in indignation. They bounced down the stairs, laces strung together, and _was that a howl of laughter he could hear?_

"Ow! _Jessica_-"

"Jessica's down here," his mother sighed, peering round the door from the sitting room. "Is this another special effect?"

Spencer looked up. Nothing was there, but he could have sworn the chandelier was wobbling slightly. "No, it's not," he said suspiciously, rubbing the back of his head, "but I'm gonna find out what it is..."

And so, on an uncharacteristically dreary day, Spencer swept up his camcorder frantically and scrabbled for the music room.  
No-one in his family played piano. Naturally, in that case, he was suspicious when the Twelve Bar Blues started drifting through the rooms, heavy with mistakes. The intent seemed to be there, however.

Realising that this could be Serious Business, Spencer automatically assumed a secret agent pose. Tiptoeing down the corridor; pressing his back to the wall sneakily; humming the Mission Impossible Theme and leaping down the hallways. Slowing cracking open one of the double doors (and wincing when it creaked a little bit), he set his camera to record, and slipped into the music room.

The piano stool was without a piano player. The piano kept on playing.

"What the...?" Spencer muttered, trying to make sense of it all - he crept over to the piano. Maybe it was a recording. Maybe he was right all along, and Jessica had been planting little seeds of doubt in his mind over whether the house could be haunted or not.

No-one was behind the tapestries - the windows were locked, nobody was hidden down the backs of the sofas, and the gaudy but admittedly kind of cool wall hangings were still firmly in place. There wasn't anyone hiding anywhere, which was incredibly brain wrinkling for a very puzzled Spencer.

He returned to the piano, still playing the same chord progression, over and over and over. Ivory keys pressed down firmly, seemingly all by themselves. Spencer was sure to catch it on camera, before setting it down and trying to mimic the pattern himself; if there had been anyone there before, then there definitely wasn't now, as a distinct lack of physical contact told Spencer that no piano player's finger rested underneath his. Spencer checked inside the body of the piano, just to be sure nothing struck the strings inside; maybe there was a CD player down the back of the music stand, instead.

He definitely did not shriek like a four year old at the sight of the sheet music turning the page by itself. No, sir-ee.

Just as he grabbed his camcorder - frustratingly, there was _still_ nothing there! - the playing abruptly stopped, mid-bar.

"No, wait, dude...! That was some sweet playing!" he called out to the ceiling. He was almost disappointed. As scary (he wasn't scared) as the experience had been, Spencer was dismayed that it was over. The phantom piano had been the most exciting thing to happen to him since he'd moved here. "Come _back_-"

Whatever else he was about to say was lost in the moment, as he jumped back from the piano stool. It had swung open carelessly to reveal... "What's _this_ thing?"

Hastily checking the sky for falling shoes - he totally didn't need to be attacked by them after bad mouthing something in the house again - Spencer held it up to the light. It was blue, and spiky, and looked suspiciously like someone's profile. A pendant on a cord that shined in the sun, and also looked fairly old. Vintage, even. At _least_ ten years. "Weird," he shrugged, slipping it over his head. It hung off of his neck fairly well. "Who gets a necklace of a head made...?"

The piano started playing once more.

"That would be _me_, bro..."

Spencer's parents had warned him against swearing before. But when he'd wheeled around to see a blue silhouette, lounging on the top of the piano like it was a bed, and playing the keys with fingers three feet long, he was sure he'd come fairly close to letting out a string of obscenities. The blue guy smirked, kicking his feet up in the air, streams of questions running from his lips without a single pause for breath.

"Snazzy lookin', huh? I have to say, it looked better on yours truly... That means on me, dontcha know. What's with the camera?"

Spencer would later claim to never have sprinted faster in his _life_.


End file.
